Friday, May 31, 2013

Poem of the Week: Michelle Regalado Deatrick

Michelle Deatrick 
                  
For My Daughter 
 
When I sweat in a Midwest January
....and wish to God it was a hot flash but know 
it's greenhouse gasses--read the news:
....Uranium seas rained on by iodine skies--
Sunday drives, see the Kalamazoo shimmer 
....spills of bitumen, kills of brown trout, 
dioxin wells irrigate the emerald fields,
....farmhouses where fracking flames 
flow from kitchen taps--I think of you then, grown
....old long after I'm gone, and wonder what you'll remember-- 
that day last September, cold apples
....and clear water, the still-sweet grass, and the paper 
plates, the plastic cups, how we threw away
....the whole green and generous world 
.....................................................and left you there.

-Michelle Regalado Deatrick 

Used by permission.  

Originally appeared in subTerrain's "Our Dying Planet" print issue (#63, Winter, 2013) and was a Finalist for the 2013 Split This Rock contest.  

Michelle Regalado Deatrick was the Winner of the 2012 Chautauqua Poetry Contest; she has been a fellow at Ragdale, VCCA, and MacDowell. Her work appears in the American Literary Review, subTerrain, Best New American Voices and many other publications. An advocate for environmental issues and small farm rights, Michelle lives on an eighty-acre farm and native prairie, teaches poetry workshops for the University of Michigan's Lifelong Learning Institute, and is Communications Director for the Michigan Small Farm Council.More of Michelle's writing can be found at www.michelleregaladodeatrick.com.

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If you are interested in reading past poems of the week, feel free to visit the blog archive.   

Friday, May 24, 2013

Poem of the Week: Denise Bergman

Denise Bergman             
 
A Building Away 
 
She is a neighbor a building away, we talk weather and potholes, exchange
names Mary same as her daughter or is she Marissa or Maria I was distracted, 
her nephew was chewing the leg of his doll and the day was disappearing before
seeds of our words could take root   A building a wall a fence a street an ocean a 
ritual a tradition a history, turnpike exits mile by milepost zoom past, trails of 
tears saturate the land, winds repollinate the fields with bones   The building an 
ocean away across waves and tides is brick is stucco mud wood thatch a tent ten 
inches from my open blinds   In the building an ocean away is a woman next 
door, the thunder of blood in her heart deafened by jets circling their targets, the 
labor of her lungs muffled by the snapping femurs of olive trees, bulldozers 
turning her town and land family and children under   Don't tell me who is or 
isn't a neighbor, don't redline my compassion

-Denise Bergman  

Used by permission. 
  
Denise Bergman's poetry collection The Telling is forthcoming from Cervena Barva Press in 2013. She conceived and edited the anthology of urban poetry City River of Voices  (West End Press, 1992). Her poetry has appeared in Gettysburg Review, Salamander, American Letters and Commentary, Nimrod, Solstice, Denver Quarterly, Chautauqua Review, Beloit Poetry Journal, Worcester Review, Monthly Review, Poet Lore, Patterson Literary Review, New Delta Review, Texas Review, Crab Orchard Review, and many others. Denise was poetry editor of Sojourner: A Women's Forum and hosted a cable TV series called Women in the Arts. You can read more of her work at: www.denisebergman.com

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If you are interested in reading past poems of the week, feel free to visit the blog archive.   

Friday, May 17, 2013

Poem of the Week: Richard Blanco

Richard Blanco             

Excerpt from "One Today"
 
All of us as vital as the one light we move through,
the same light on blackboards with lessons for the day:
equations to solve, history to question, or atoms imagined,
the "I have a dream" we keep dreaming,
or the impossible vocabulary of sorrow that won't explain
the empty desks of twenty children marked absent
today, and forever. Many prayers, but one light
breathing color into stained glass windows,
life into the faces of bronze statues, warmth
onto the steps of our museums and park benches
as mothers watch children slide into the day.

One ground. Our ground, rooting us to every stalk
of corn, every head of wheat sown by sweat
and hands, hands gleaning coal or planting windmills
in deserts and hilltops that keep us warm, hands
digging trenches, routing pipes and cables, hands
as worn as my father's cutting sugarcane
so my brother and I could have books and shoes.

The dust of our farms and deserts, cities and plains
mingled by one wind -- our breath. Breathe. Hear it
through the day's gorgeous din of honking cabs,
buses launching down avenues, the symphony
of footsteps, guitars, and screeching subways,
the unexpected song bird on your clothes line.

-Richard Blanco 

Used by permission. Read the full poem here.


Richard Blanco, a first-generation Cuban American, was chosen by President Obama as the 2013 Inaugural Poet. His three books of poems are City of a Hundred Fires, winner of the Agnes Starrett Poetry Prize from the University of Pittsburgh Press; Directions to The Beach of the Dead, winner of the Beyond Margins Award from the PEN American Center; and 2012's Looking for The Gulf Motel, winner of the Paterson Poetry Prize and the Thom Gunn Award.  
 
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If you are interested in reading past poems of the week, feel free to visit the blog archive.   

Friday, May 10, 2013

Poem of the Week: Sami Miranda


            

Found Poem - 
New Hampshire Avenue and Piney Branch
 
Please

          (this is what my mama taught me to say

           before I ask for anything)

I am need

           (this is my alter ego, my superhero identity

           the one that makes me do this electric boogaloo

           along the double yellow line, that makes me tap

           at your window with this handmade sign)

help God bless you

            (cause you know he ain't paying you

            no mind, just like you

            ain't paying me no mind

            but he will if you just pay, a quarter

            a dime or nickel, he'd prefer you pay in dollar bills

            twenties if you have them to spare

            meet me with kindness, in exchange

            blessings, blessings, blessings)
 

-Sami Miranda

Used by permission.


Sami Miranda is an educator, poet and visual artists who makes his home in Washington, DC. His work has been published in Al Pie De la Casa BlancaFull Moon on K Stthe Chiron ReviewDC Poets Against the War Anthology, MiPoesias.com and Beltway among others. He has performed at venues such as the Kennedy Center, The Smithsonian Museum of American Art, The Smithsonian Museum of African Art and GALA Theatre. Sami curated the Sabor Sunday reading series in Washington DC, that brought two poets, a trio of musicians and two visual artists into conversation. He is currently recording a jazz and poetry collaboration with bass player Pepe Gonzalez. He develops and facilitates interactive poetry workshops for youth and adults and holds an MFA from The Bennington Writing Seminars.
 

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Wednesday, May 8, 2013

Vileana and Leili Recap Louder Than a Bomb!

"At Louder Than a Bomb no material was too sacred, political, violent, cruel, beautiful, or exhilarating. The best poems were sharp critical reminders of our own humanity, our pain, humor, strength, and virtue." -- Vileana de la Rosa



We’re thrilled to have Vileana de la Rosa as our Poetry and Social Change Intern and Leili Slutz as our Communications and Social Media Intern this spring! This past weekend, both Vileana and Leili attended the Louder Than a Bomb DMV Teen Poetry Slam Festival (May 4-5, 2013). Below they share their experience and reflections with us:

Leili:

On Friday afternoon a giggling high school student came into the Split This Rock office to practice for the weekend’s big slam poetry competition. The student smiled nervously, shuffled her feet a bit, looked down, and launched her poem quietly into the floor. After a few lines her shoulders left her ears and her back straightened and her chin lifted and her voice took on some strength. By the middle of the poem she had left her childhood behind and was walking into some devastating personal issues while the rest of us flushed as the small office room became too hot. By the time she finished she was shouting and I was fighting back tears and the urge to jump up and down. That Friday rehearsal served as my introduction to the second annual Louder Than a Bomb DMV Youth Slam Poetry Competition, and Saturday and Sunday’s competition at George Washington University followed the same unexpected vein.

This past weekend I stood witness to some unbelievable power as twenty high school teams from DC, Maryland, and Virginia laid themselves bare on stage time and again, hitting the audience with an eloquence for which I was completely unprepared. Throughout the event students expounded on their frustrations, their personal battles with rape, violence, racism, and oppression, and their struggles to shape a future from what they view as a broken system. For me, as a newcomer to DC and to slam, it showed me the heart of the region, the resilience of our students, and the transformative power of living, shouting poetry.

This year’s festival featured open-floor discussions on DMV identity; workshops on hip-hop, poetry, and activism; a family block party and a coach’s slam; hours of intense competition; and a finale featuring renowned poet Alysia Harris. The competition also brought together an outstanding group of adult artists and activists from the DMV area, emphasizing the relevance and urgency of the issues and poetry spotlighted this weekend. The event also highlighted the essential work of teachers from all three regions and the coordinators/coaches from the DC Youth Slam Team and poetryN.O.W. 

Louder Than a Bomb originated in Chicago and co-founder Kevin Coval and the non-profit organization Young Chicago Authors continue to build the movement outside of its founding city; Coval traveled to D.C. for the weekend’s event. The 2013 Louder Than a Bomb DMV embodied everything we work for at Split This Rock—to celebrate poetry of witness and provocation as a living, breathing art form and as an active agent for change.

Vileana:


I am still recovering from all the amazing poetry I heard this weekend. Louder Than a Bomb-DMV 2013 was truly a transformative and life-changing experience, delivering lyrical and poetic justice bombs that blew the audience away. Together we laughed, cried, and sighed with words that tore into our souls; we realized the collective power of each others’ voices. The energy in the rooms where the Semi-Finals and the Finals took place was incredible--each poet and poem left an indelible impression on the audience where poets were reminded “Don’t be Nice”, “Word”, “Yes!”, “We!”, “You got this!”, and “Keep it going!.” In a society where apathy is the norm, students often do not have the support to form and express their own social and political analysis. But at Louder Than a Bomb no material was too sacred, political, violent, cruel, beautiful, or exhilarating. The best poems were sharp critical reminders of our own humanity, our pain, humor, strength, and virtue.

I traveled across the country from UC Irvine as part of the UCDC program to intern with Split This Rock, and never would I have thought that slam poetry would break me, heal me, and inspire me as much as it did. Our poets are fighters, lovers, and enchanters, leaving me with a sense of real hope for humanity. As my peers toil away at their internships with various state departments, federal, and legal offices, I had the unique opportunity to help organize the largest teen poetry festival in the DMV area. My experience at Louder Than a Bomb tore me inside out and reminded me of the social, transformative power of words. The poetry at Louder Than a Bomb cannot be undermined, misplaced, or co-opted; each finely tuned poem speaks for itself.
 

Friday, May 3, 2013

Poem of the Week: Kenji Liu

Kenji Liu          

Elegy for Kimani Gray  

16 Years Old
 

Sharp tenure of boots in this callow country
     grown from open skulls. A raw harvest of bullet casings

arranged in a perfect ring around you,
     ruthless departure gate from your too-short life.

Old bricks laid on mud, on ancient bones.
     A crooked wall that slithers in all directions, into all of us.

In the subway station, your hymnal of hail,
     audible through the sagging window pane, and

the hushed light of a penny keeping to itself,
     away from the wicked maledictions of trigger fingers.

This ending is the middle, halfway between genesis
     and the great throwing open of all our secretive vaults.

Bullet one, entitled to flesh and the sin of pride.
      Two more in thrall to the scent of a black body. With orders

from their gods, they plow your emptied land.
     Still more, cloaked against simple pleas of muscle and bone.

The last bullet, addicted to death's sharp edges,
      cracks your final seal. Your murder, a cage we have seen before.

No more. Hold every lucid moment close, so that
     its delicate turbulence does not escape your accounting.

Those who have mispledged to protect will never
     own this moment. It is yours alone, whether they pierce

mesh with metal or lies. You are not theirs.
     only yours alone. Your bright eyes open again and again,

fireflies in their factory of dark rituals. Traveling
      the undiscovered country, you are : finally : every last breath.  
 


-Kenji Liu   

Used by permission.


Kenji Liu  (www.kenjiliu.com) is a 1.5-generation immigrant from New Jersey. A Pushcart Prize nominee and first runner-up finalist for the Poets & Writers 2013 California Writers Exchange Award, his writing has appeared in numerous journals, including RHINO Poetry, Generations, Eye to the Telescope, Ozone Park Journal, Kweli Journal, Doveglion Press, Best American Poetry's blog, Kartika Review, Lantern Review, and others. His poetry chapbook You Left Without Your Shoes was nominated for a 2009 California Book Award. A three-time VONA alum and recipient of residencies at Djerassi and Blue Mountain Center, he is working on a full-length poetry book. He lives in California.
 
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If you are interested in reading past poems of the week, feel free to visit the blog archive.